


Like staring into the sun

by static_abyss



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 21:51:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5106968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/pseuds/static_abyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Cosette paints her, Eponine almost leaves. The way Cosette studies her, her serious, too blue eyes, catches Eponine off guard. She can feel her heart thumping loudly in her chest, and the space between her and Cosette seems filled with unanswerable questions. Part of Eponine wants to go, but a larger part of herself wants to stay.</p><p>It has been a long time since anyone looked at her with such intensity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like staring into the sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlequasimonsters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlequasimonsters/gifts).



> Happy Halloween littlequasimonsters! Hope you enjoy ♡

There are scars on Eponine's knees from the number of times she hit the ground, on her knuckles from the number of times she got up and fought back. Her hands are rough and her arms have marks from when she was a baby and had the chicken pox. She's tall, her skin light brown, her eyes so dark they're almost black. There are gaps between her fingers, from when her hand got caught in her apartment door as a child. Her right knee aches sometimes, when it's cold or humid, ever since she was twelve and fell off her bike. 

Still, she stands with her head held high, her eyes on a spot above the heads of everyone. She walks and the crowds part, either misreading confidence, or sensing her anger. Eponine doesn't care which one it is. She cares that they believe her in control, that she, herself, believes she's in control.

-

Eponine is riding the train towards the end of October, leaning against the doors, earbuds in as she listens to Fall Out Boy. She wants to go to their concert, but she has books to buy, and classes to pay.

Cosette is standing by the opposite door, with her back to Eponine, her blonde hair falling in waves down her back. She has on a long black coat over a striped black and white dress, sheer stockings, and knee length boots. It works for her, even though Eponine can't see her properly. 

Everything always works for Cosette.

They don't know each other well enough for Eponine to say hello. Cosette is Marius's favorite person, and an art student friend of Grantaire's, generally loved by the friends she and Eponine share. Cosette has a kind word for everyone, and a natural ability to make others happy. 

She and Eponine have very few things in common.

But the train rattles to a stop at 50th street, and Cosette turns to let the people out. She looks up, her big blue eyes widening with recognition when she sees Eponine. She smiles and it lights up her face, her eyes wrinkling in the corners, as though she couldn't be happier to see Eponine. 

She walks over and Eponine just slouches against her door, sticks her hands in her coat pockets, and waits.

"Hello," Cosette says, her eyes running across Eponine's face. "I love your scarf."

Eponine pulls out an earbud. "Thanks," she says. "I like your coat."

Cosette smiles and twirls in the middle of the moving train so Eponine can see her coat. When she's done, Eponine can't help the warmth that spreads outwards from the center of her chest. She's charmed, more so when she realizes that Cosette is shorter than her.

"Where are you going?" she finds herself asking.

"To the art classroom," Cosette says. "I have to draw something before next week, so I don't fail the assignment."

"It's not going well?" Eponine asks. 

Cosette sighs. "Grantaire finished _his_ last week."

"Yeah," Eponine says, rolling her eyes. "But Grantaire just draws Enjolras in a different style every time you guys have to hand something in."

"He gets credit, though," Cosette says. "It's annoying."

"Tell me about. You should see how he gets when Enjolras models for him."

Cosette laughs. "Enjolras?" she asks. "Modelling?"

"I know," Eponine says. "It's super painful for everyone involved. Especially Grantaire."

"It's not a bad idea though," Cosette says, as the train pulls into their stop. "Having someone to draw."

She says nothing else as they push through the people to get off the train. Eponine takes off her other earbud and puts her headphones into her bag. 

"What are you doing right now?" Cosette asks, getting up on her tiptoes to see over the crowd of people.

Eponine pulls her bag closer to her and starts making her way through the crowded train station. Cosette follows close, her small hand wrapped around the strap of Eponine's bag.

"I'm not doing anything," Eponine finally says, when they get to the stairs.

Cosette nods. "Want to come to the art room with me?"

Eponine frowns. "Why?" she asks. "No offense, but we don't even know each other that well."

"I know," Cosette says, waiting until Eponine looks at her, before she continues. "Will you let me draw you anyway?"

Cosette's seriousness is what convinces Eponine, the way Cosette won't look away. Eponine exhales hard through her nose. This close, Cosette's beauty is almost too painful.

"Shit," Eponine says. "People should be painting _you_. Not me."

"That's crazy," Cosette says, smiling again as she leads the way outside of the train station. "My face is boring."

"Boring?" Eponine asks, shaking her head. 

But Cosette just links their arms together, and walks them down the streets to the college.

-

The first time Cosette paints her, Eponine almost leaves. The way Cosette studies her, her serious, too blue eyes, catches Eponine off guard. She can feel her heart thumping loudly in her chest, and the space between her and Cosette seems filled with unanswerable questions. Part of Eponine wants to go, but a larger part of herself wants to stay.

It has been a long time since anyone looked at her with such intensity.

"Is it good?" Eponine asks, when Cosette sets her pencils down.

Cosette looks up, her face breaking out into a grin. "It's perfect," she says. "You're gorgeous."

Eponine almost believes her.

-

Cosette pulls out paints when Eponine sits for her a second time. They're in Eponine's dorm room, blinds open so the sun comes through.

"It's going to take a while," Cosette says. "So get comfortable."

Eponine drops down on her bed, turns her head towards Cosette. Cosette looks her over, slow and appreciative, her eyes lingering on Eponine's arms, her neck, the side of her face.

"There's fine," Cosette says.

Eponine lies there, her head turned towards the fading sunlight. She imagines Grantaire in his room, watching Enjolras the way Cosette is watching her. 

"How'd you do on your last assignment?" Eponine asks, careful to keep her pose.

"Better than Grantaire," Cosette says, but she sounds distracted.

Eponine let's her work, the scratching of Cosette's pencil the only noise in the room. 

"You can move if you want ," Cosette says, sometime later. "I'm just going to color now."

Eponine rolls over on her stomach, her feet up against the wall. Cosette is wearing jeans and a bright blue sweater, today. She has the sleeves rolled up, out of the way, and her hair tied back into a ponytail.

"What's your favorite color?" she asks, picking out browns and purples to match Eponine's shirt.

"Blue," Eponine says. "Kind of like your eyes."

Cosette smiles, pleased at the compliment. "I like your freckles," she says.

Eponine wishes she could tell whether Cosette really means it.

-

The first painting Eponine sees is acrylic on canvas, a study of Eponine's face. It's slashes of paint among gentler lines, every color folded into the other. Eponine doesn't recognize the curve of her cheek, or the softness in her expression. There's a warmth to the freckles on her face that suits the woman in the painting.

"It's you," Cosette whispers, as though afraid she'll startle Eponine. "I have another one, if you want to see it."

Eponine nods.

The second painting is Eponine's face again, but the strokes are harsher, the colors darker. Eponine's cheekbones look sharp enough to cut, the edges of her jaw like sharpened glass. Her eyes are wide, her brow furrowed, every muscles visible in her face, tense. She looks wild and vicious, and there's an ache in the center of Eponine's chest.

She reaches out a hand to touch the canvas, and is almost surprised when her hand meets the uneven coats of paint. Eponine is careful not to press too hard. She's shaking, but she can't help it. She has always wanted to look like this painting.

"What did you call it?" she asks Cosette.

"Daughter of the Wolf," Cosette whispers. "They're a set."

The empty, hollow feeling in Eponine's chest makes it hard to breathe, and Eponine doesn't know what to do with it. But even so, she can admit that it makes sense for these paintings to be a set. They are her, in all the ways that matter.

-

There's something about being the source of Cosette's inspiration that makes it hard for Eponine to care about the scars on her knuckles. Cosette paints and Eponine can't tell the difference between a scar and a story. Cosette looks at her, and Eponine is not afraid to be who she is. 

The longer she spends in a room, with Cosette quietly working away at a piece, the more Eponine wishes she remembered how she got each mark on her skin. She wants to know what kind of bike she was riding the day she hurt her knee, the name of the park, the color of the leaves on the trees. She wishes she could remember where her mother was, whether she cried when she hit the ground.

"I don't think you cried," Cosette says, when Eponine mentions it. "I think you always wanted to be brave."

"What do you mean?" Eponine asks.

She's sitting on the floor with Cosette today, underneath Cosette's living room window. There's a breeze coming from the open window, bringing with it an ambulance siren and the beeping chorus of impatient drivers. 

"You're brave," Cosette says, nudging Eponine's shoulder. "I'm just saying that you were always that way."

"I'm not brave," Eponine says, tucking her knees close to her chest.

She tilts to the side when she does so, her right side pressed more securely against Cosette's left. They're both cold, but the longer they stay close, the warmer they get.

"Letting someone paint you is brave," Cosette says. "Letting someone in like that. That's brave."

"You're trying to flatter me so that I forget you promised me dinner," Eponine laughs.

Cosette shakes her head. She's smiling, but Eponine knows that Cosette meant what she said. And this is the part that Eponine can't do yet. She can't take compliments, can't take truths, even if they're things she's always wanted to hear.

They feel wrong, as though Eponine doesn't deserve them, as though the bruises on her skin never faded. She sits next to Cosette, and the difference between them is painful. Cosette radiates light and joy, every inch of her a contrast to Eponine. Cosette is the one who deserves the compliments. Cosette is the one who people stop to look at, the one who people go out of their way to please. 

Cosette fits everywhere she goes. She finds a way in with her gentle words and radiant smiles. She's clever and gorgeous, endless waves of blonde hair and a laugh that's addictive. She's always warm whenever she takes Eponine's hand. 

Sometimes, she's too much.

Compliments from Cosette hurt the most, because Eponine doesn't believe them yet. Not the words. 

She believes the paintings, though. 

-

When she's alone, sometimes Eponine wishes she could paint. She'd sit Cosette outside, in front of the dark green hedges that line the college garden. She'd paint in whites, yellows, pinks, and dark green for the grass. She'd bring Cosette to life in a new way, not gold, but a mixture of colors. 

Cosette is like that, everything good mixed into one. She smiles and Eponine's heart aches. Cosette brushes past her, and the smell of her perfume is lines of pink and white, swirls of yellow that match Cosette's hair. Eponine would need blue for Cosette's eyes, various shades just to do them a semblance of justice.

If she could draw, Eponine would fill pages with Cosette. She'd rip them out of her sketch book, and hand them out in the streets so that people could see Cosette. She'd parade Cosette around in folded papers and smudged pastels. 

If she could draw, Eponine would say thank you for the way Cosette makes her feel.

**Author's Note:**

> My take on the "hurt/comfort" square for trope bingo. Something a little different than physical hurt, and something more like emotional pain.


End file.
